The last architect in the irish public service Poem by Thomas McCarthy

They told me to draw a memorable door
But I had to ask them what that was for
When no one would be left in this particular
Drawing office or its marble corridor.
They said an architect could hardly refuse
To draw a closure around the Malton views
Of old Dublin. But, I could choose,
They said, between a door as soft as spruce
Or a classic mahogany one. It should be
A simple rectangle, a nod to antiquity;
A door proud to have once been a tree,
But happy with change management. See,
They said, see how government is now
A smaller version of our selves, see how
One old corridor is emptied. This will allow
What is private to grow again. You know
That all of knowledge is but a toll-road;
The highway-builder must receive what is owed.
What you built is now cross-hatched and shadowed:
So, draw us one final door with electronic code.